


I Told The Witchdoctor I Was In Love With You

by mishmashfandom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4713017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishmashfandom/pseuds/mishmashfandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt: Hey, I was wondering if you could do one where Stiles is cursed with a spell that makes him want to have sex a lot and the pack doesn't know until he rips of Derek's clothes and rides him right then and there</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Told The Witchdoctor I Was In Love With You

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry that this took me so long to write, I hope you like it anon!

It starts out as a small itch. Stiles fiddles with the strings on his hoodie to distract himself from it, but it doesn’t go away, and he sighs. Maybe it had been an itching spell then? That would certainly be annoying, though for what purpose one casts an itching spell, Stiles can’t fathom. He can distantly hear the murmur of Deaton’s voice from the next room over, but the more he tries to focus on it, the more it blurs, until all he can hear is buzzing, and all he can feel is the itch.

Stiles had thought, maybe, for just one year he could be exempt from any crazy supernatural bullshit but apparently not. When their little group had exited the high school after lacrosse practice two weeks previously and seen Derek waiting for them, propped up against the hood of his sleek, black Camaro, Stiles had known it couldn’t mean anything good.

He hadn’t known it would mean _witches_ though. As opposed to what Stiles had previously been led to believe, ‘witch’ turned out to be a unisex title, labelling both guys and girls as completely magic-obsessed _psychos._

Derek hadn’t been able to tell them what the witches wanted in Beacon Hills, but it would turn out to be irrelevant.

How? You might ask. How can a group of witches, mentally damaged ones as well, suddenly become irrelevant?

Well, Stiles though. That would be when one of them fucking _fixated on Stiles, and decided that they should be mates._

And not mates in that fun-British-jolly-let’s-be-besties kind of way either. No, sire. The let’s-stay-together-forever-bonded-by-magic-and-who-knows-what-else kind of mated.

The witch in question was a guy, only a couple of years older than himself, if Stiles had to guess. He’d taken one look at Stiles, and that had been it: His pupils had dilated, he’d licked his lips, and proclaimed Stiles to be his, and his alone.

Wolfed-out Derek hadn’t liked the sound of that _at all_.

Stiles tried not to think about that too much.

The next time they’d met the witches ended up in a fight. The witch-guy had showed up right in front of Stiles, as if by, well, _magic_. He’d smiled at him sweetly, and then he’d blown yellow dust in Stiles’ face while chanting something that had sounded vaguely like “sweater weather” at the time.

The yellow dusted sweater weather was the reason for Stiles’ surprise trip to Deaton’s office in the middle of the night, accompanied by his extremely worried pack, and an extraordinarily pissed off Derek Hale.

Because Stiles had been cursed, and they had no idea with what, and apparently neither did Deaton. Stiles had been prodded and poked, had his blood taken, his hair pulled out, a dozen different lights shone into his eyes, and really, Stiles was starting to get seriously tired of his life.

Everyone else is currently gathered in Deaton’s office, while Stiles lingers in the examination room, waiting on the verdict of the pack’s enigmatic emissary. It is incredibly boring, not to mention nerve-wracking, leaving Stiles with nothing to focus on but the problem at hand.

The itch is getting worse, spreading down his neck over his collarbones and chest. Stiles moans a little when the itch settles over his left nipple, and then immediately regrets it. Scott, damn his super hearing to hell, has hurried into the examination room where Stiles is seated, worry clear on his faces.

Stiles sighs deeply, and in a calm voice repeats the same thing he’s been saying over and over all night: “I’m fine, Scott.”

Scott’s eyebrows furrow. “You were in pain,” he says, but it also sounds like a question, and Stiles start to shake his head. Just then, the itch selects to settle somewhere just above his abdomen. He can’t help it; he _gasps._

Scott takes a step closer to him, and Stiles rears backwards on the table. “No!” he shouts shakily, and then chides himself for it when he sees Scott’s now beyond concerned expression.

The rest of the pack is lining up outside the room, all sporting varying expressions of concern, confusion and curiosity. No one is entering, probably out of apprehension since _Scott_ wasn’t allowed entrance.

“Stiles, are you beginning to feel the spell?” Deaton questions and Stiles nods.

“It’s like an itch, only not really unpleasant,” he starts, then stops, because he’s not completely sure how it feels.

“I can’t really describe it,” he ends up saying with a shrug.

Deaton is gesturing between himself and the examination room, silently asking for permission to enter, which Stiles grants, albeit a little embarrassed. He’d freaked out before because of the itch, but it was like he didn’t even notice it now. In the minutes passed since his outburst, the itch has transformed into more of a soothed vibration, settled deep in his bones. Like something he knew was there, but wasn’t consciously aware of.

“Nothing from the tests I did on you, nor from your description adds up to the spell being harmful,” Deaton states thoughtfully. “I’d still say that staying over at Derek’s is a good idea. The more people you are to watch this, the better.”

And really, Stiles thinks exasperated, he doesn’t _need_ to be watched over like a child. He’d scoffed at the idea when Derek had presented it, and he’d scoff at it now. He might be the human of the pack, and Derek may think that he is weak and defenseless, but that _does not_ mean that he is helpless.

The subtle vibration turns up a notch, making Stiles go weak in the knees.

Stiles is starting to have a really bad feeling about this spell. He doesn’t let any concern show on his face, or in his heart rate, but if the spell turns out to be what he’s starting to suspect it is, then it is only a matter of time before someone finds out. Stiles really would prefer it if that someone isn’t the whole pack though, and so a plan starts to form in his mind.

Get to Derek’s apartment, send everyone home, and make Derek tie him up so he doesn’t do anything stupid (if it’s necessary, Stiles can’t really figure out how bad this is going to be yet).

And _oh God_ , now Stiles is thinking about Derek tying him up. He forces himself to think about Coach in soggy boxershorts instead. He does a quick look around, but no-one seems to have caught the swift rise and fall of his pulse.

“Yeah okay,” he says, and his voice is trembling the tiniest bit. “Derek?”

He looks over to where the older guy is standing and _man_ was that a bad idea. Stiles can’t help but look at the way Derek has crossed his arms, making his biceps bulge fantastically. How many times has Stiles been pushed up against walls by those arms? How many times have Derek grinned at him as he playfully slapped him on the back of his head after a particularly bad joke?

He notices how Derek’s scowl makes his lips pop, making them look so wonderfully kissable. Stiles takes a moment to imagine what kissing Derek Hale would be like. It’s a fantasy he has indulged himself in many times, but now it seems almost painful to _not_ kiss him. It’d be so easy too. Just a few steps and those lips would land on Stiles’. The thought alone makes Stiles’ breath quicken, and he unconsciously wets his lips.

Derek is looking at him in what can only be called mild shock, and it’s only then that Stiles realizes that he has actually hopped down from the desk and taken a step towards Derek. He quickly reins himself in, but he can do nothing to stop the blush that’s spreading on his face.

“You,” Derek says, and Stiles almost whimpers at the sound of his voice, “are _not_ driving.”

And Stiles finds himself nodding, wants to tell Derek that he’ll do anything he says, _anything_ , but he’s still painfully aware of the rest of the pack, as well as the fact that Derek is a straight man, with absolutely no interest in Stiles beyond friendship.

Curse or no curse, there is no way that Stiles is throwing away everything that he has worked so hard on building between him and Derek.

Scott is nodding too. “I’ll drive him,” he offers.

“Alright! Let’s go!” Stiles squeaks, and it’s far too loud and enthusiastic, he knows it is, but the vibrations are getting stronger, as is the urge to just _touch_ Derek, and Stiles knows he’s running out of time. He’s starting to feel somewhat dizzy, the edges around his vision is getting blurry,  and he needs to get back to Derek’s place _now_ , or else he’s going to do something he’ll never live down, for sure.

 

* * *

 

 

It feels like forever before Scott pulls the Jeep up in front of Derek’s building.

By then Stiles was pretty sure he had figured out his predicament. He’d been hit by a lust spell- this much was obvious now- and the spell was clearly using touch as a focus point. Derek had been the first one to touch Stiles after the spell had knocked him out, and so, the spell had chosen Derek as Stiles’ focus point.

Stiles had spent the entire drive from the clinic thinking about the smell Derek had emitted when he’d woken up in his arms hours prior.  

After the yellow dust sweater weather, Stiles had fainted. He now understands how it was part of the spell, and how witch-guy had planned to touch Stiles and activate the spell, so that when Stiles woke up, he’d be all over him. Unfortunately for witch-guy, he’d forgotten to account for Stiles’ pack, especially Derek.

Stiles had woken up comfortably warm and enclosed by the most delicious smell; like freshly fallen rain, and damp earth, and musk, and Stiles hadn’t been entirely surprised to open his eyes and find Derek as the source of all that.

He’d been sweating a little, Stiles remembers, and then have to resolutely try to _not_ remember, because Scott is sitting right next to him, and he really doesn’t want to explain why he is all of a sudden getting hard.

It is a battle against his body, and Stiles is losing.

Stiles almost run up the stair to Derek’s apartment with Scott hot on his heels.

Step one of the plan has been accomplished: Get to Derek’s place.

Now on to step two: Get everyone else to leave. Easy peasy, right?

Apparently not. Lydia and Allison are crowding him the moment he gets through the door, asking him if he’s alright, does he feel hot, would he like some water, is he _okay_? and Stiles is on the verge of either laughing hysterically, or breaking down sobbing.

“I’m fine, totally fine, Derek can take care of me, right Derek? So you guys can just go home, it’s fine, everything’s fine, _please go home_ ,” he babbles.

Which, of course, only makes the pack even more worried, crowding him further, and it’s too much, Stiles feel it all too much, how close they are to him, and how he doesn’t want them to, he just wants Derek.

Derek, whose stare is burning itself onto Stiles’ skin, making him hot all over. Stiles has lost the battle against his body, he lost it the moment he stepped into Derek’s apartment, because everything here _smells_ like Derek, and Stiles is so hopelessly hard in his pants, but everyone is (thankfully) too busy fretting over him to notice.

Or maybe not, because Derek is sniffing the air a little, and his eyebrows furrow (Stiles wants to lick those eyebrows, and isn’t that a completely deranged thought), and now Derek is stepping closer to Stiles, and Stiles _can’t breathe_.

“Stiles?” Derek asks quietly, but it sounds so loud in Stiles’ ears.

Derek is reaching out towards him, and Stiles wants him to touch him so badly, but there’s a little voice in the back of his mind screaming at him to move away from the touch. “Stiles, are you alrig…” Derek never gets to finish his sentence, because in that moment his hand connects to Stiles’ bare arm, and Stiles sucks his breath in sharply.

It feels as if he’s been struck by lightning, and his arm burns where Derek touched it. Nothing matters anymore, nothing but the fact that Derek _touched him_ , because Stiles wants, no _needs_ to have Derek right now, or he might possibly die.

He looks up at Derek, his chocolate eyes almost completely black with lust. He grabs onto the hand that Derek has almost removed from his arm, and pulls himself closer to the older man.

“Derek,” Stiles breathes, hunger evident in his every syllable, and Derek’s eyes widen almost comically.

Stiles kisses him. It’s not the sweet, romantic joining of lips that Stiles has always dreamt it would be. Instead it’s hard, and urgent, with lots of tongue. He sticks his hands up under Derek’s dark grey t-shirt and growls, because it’s in the way, it’s hiding Derek from him, and it needs to _go_. He rips it off, gasping loudly at the sight of Derek’s tight, light brown nipples. He forgets the offending shirt, casts it away so he can greedily suck on Derek’s nipples.

“OH MY GOD!”

“EW, OH EWW!!”

“SWEET BABY JESUS, WHY?!”

Derek growls. Stiles look up at him, and his cock weeps pre-cum when he sees that Derek has shifted into his beta form. There’s a loud ‘thud’ as Stiles knees hit the floor, and he starts to mouth Derek through his denim jeans while fumbling desperately with the older man’s belt.

“STILES NO!”

“Oh, my eyes, MY EYES!”

Who does the voices belong to? Stiles doesn’t know, doesn’t care. All that matters is Derek. Wonderful, sexy Derek, and his fucking annoying belt that won’t let Stiles get to his undoubtedly fantastic cock. Stiles growls at the belt.

“Jesus fuck, get the fuck out!” Derek yells. Stiles faintly hears the sound of feet clattering against floor, and the sound of the door closing, but all he can focus on is Derek.

He’s sucking on Derek’s pelvic muscle and massaging his dick through his jeans, when suddenly he’d pulled back up on his feet. He whines, already missing the taste of Derek’s naked flesh on his tongue, and the feel of him in his hand.

Derek looks wild. Stiles tries to kiss him again, but Derek moves back, and Stiles whimpers pathetically.

Derek makes a distressed sound. “Stiles,” he tries, but just the sound of his name coming from Derek is enough to make Stiles moan noisily.

“Derek,” he pants. “Wanna ride you.”

Derek sucks in a breath, and Stiles’ entire world narrows down to that.

“You like that?” he whispers, “You wanna fuck me? Want me to ride your cock so good, god Derek, I’ll be so good for you.”

Derek’s pupils are blown wide, and there’s no mistaking the bulge visible in his pants. Stiles feels like he’s conquered the world, every scolding little piece of it. He feels powerful, and this time when he drops to his knees, Derek doesn’t pull him back up. He just moans as Stiles finally gets his belt off and promptly pulls down his pants and underwear in one go, and he fucking yells when Stiles swallows his dick down to the root.

“Stiles, oh fuck, _Stiles_ ,” Derek moans, making Stiles groan around Derek’s dick. The vibrations must have felt amazing, because Derek shoves his hips forward helplessly, making Stiles choke on his cock.

He pulls off with a wet slurping sound, saliva and pre-cum dangling between his lips and Derek’s dick. He licks it off like he can’t get enough of it, and is rewarded with another heavy drop of pre-cum.

Stiles looks up at Derek, makes sure that they have eye-contact before he licks it off too, and Derek’s knees buckle a little.

Stiles chuckles. “You like that? You want to fuck my mouth? Want to shove your dick down into my throat and fuck me till I can’t speak?” he asks, and it seems to turn Derek on, so he keeps going. “Or maybe you want to fuck my ass? Nobody ever has, only my own fingers. I’d be so tight for you, Derek, _fuck,”_

It’s what he wants, Stiles realizes. To have Derek inside of him, filling him up, fucking him until he _screams_.

He pulls hard at Derek’s knee pits, making the werewolf fall to his knees in front of him. Stiles doesn’t let him rest there though, opting instead for pushing at the other man’s chest until he lies on his back on the living room floor.  Stiles pulls Derek’s jeans all the way off his legs, and then he’s finally seeing Derek in all his naked glory. Stiles can’t look away. He’s tracing the muscle in Derek’s right thigh, incapable of comprehending how someone can be so thoroughly perfect as Derek.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and Derek actually blushes.

“You’re wearing too much clothes,” the dark haired Adonis says, and Stiles would do anything to make this man happy. He has never felt this kind of raw need to please, to completely worship someone in the most sexual way imaginable. But right now, all Stiles can focus on is making sure that Derek is one hundred percent satisfied.

He quickly strips off his t-shirt, fearing that if he looks away for more than a second, Derek will disappear. His pants are next, then his socks and boxers, until he is standing completely naked in front of Derek.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers to Derek.

“Come here,” Derek answers.

Stiles does. He sits himself down on top of Derek, and has to actively stop himself from coming when he feels Derek’s cock slide between his cheeks and over his asshole.   

“Derek,” he pleads. “Derek, please tell me. Tell me what you want.”

Derek’s eyes flash blue and a quiet growl rips itself from his throat. His hands come up to Stiles’ hips, effectively locking the teen on top of him.

Derek sits upright, making sure to place Stiles strategically on top of him, so that his dick lies perfectly between the smaller man’s ass cheeks.

“Tell me that you want this,” he whispers, and Stiles feels lost. Want this? It should be pretty obvious by now that all Stiles could ever want is Derek.

“Please,” Derek whispers. “Stiles, please tell me that you want this.”

Stiles nods. “I want this,” he whispers back. “Shit Derek, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted to touch you,” as he speaks, Stiles carefully starts to rock back and forth, making both of them groan appreciatively.

“Wanted to kiss you,” Stiles says, and does just so, sloppy and messy and fucking fantastic. The rocking picks up pace during their kiss, making Stiles break away with a gasp.

“Wanted you to fuck me for so long! Derek, fuck me, please fuck me!”

Stiles is yelling at this point, but neither of them is even really noticing. The dry-humping and the kissing has gotten Stiles so on edge, that when Derek wraps his hand around his dick, Stiles comes.

Derek looks like he expects Stiles to climb off of him now, but Stiles is still far from done.

Grabbing hold of one of Derek’s fingers, Stiles drags it through the mess he has made on Derek’s stomach. Without breaking eye-contact, he lifts Derek’s hand and leads it towards his backside. Derek seems to finally catch on to what’s going on, and whimpers quietly.

Stiles smirks, and connect Derek’s cum-wet finger with his asshole.

“I want you to fingerfuck me. And then, when I’m all nice and loose for you, I want to ride you so hard you blackout.”

Whenever Stiles has fingered himself in the past, it’s always been slow. Careful. But now, he’s shoving himself down on Derek’s fingers hard, and there’s no discomfort, no pain, just mind-blowing pleasure. He’s about to do it again when Derek’s other hand stops him by grapping onto his ass.

“I know how desperate you are for this right now,” Derek starts, and Stiles scoff because Derek has no fucking clue how desperate Stiles is for this. “But I’m going to prepare you properly, because I don’t want you to look back on your first time with regret.”

Stiles’ body goes lax. Derek, _his Derek_ , wants to take care of him, and Stiles wouldn’t dream of denying this gorgeous man anything. So he just nods, and lets Derek take proper care of him, stretching him with no less than four fingers. At the end of it, about ten minutes later, Stiles’ patience is running thin, and his cock is so hard, it’s practically drooling.

“You ready?” Derek asks him, and Stiles nod vigorously.

And then, finally, Stiles feels the first push of Derek against his rim. Derek goes slow at first, carefully pushing in until the head pops past Stiles’ rim. And then Stiles can’t take anymore, shoving himself all the way down on Derek’s cock, making both of them gasp out loud in pure pleasure.

“Derek? I’m sorry Derek, I’m sorry, I’ll be good from now on, I’m sorry, I can be good for you, I’m sorry…”

Derek interrupts Stiles’ panicked babbling with a scorching kiss. “You’re perfect.”

Stiles’ panic is replaced with a strong feeling of something, something warm and content and loving, until all he can feel is this warmth spreading through his entire body. He starts to rock up and down, slowly, and then faster as he can feel Derek’s breath quicken.  

Derek places both of his hands on Stiles’ hips, and starts lifting the younger man up and down his hard shaft. The subtle display of Derek’s inhuman strength is enough to make Stiles moan and pick up the pace.

It doesn’t take long before Stiles feels himself nearing his peak. The spell combined with the fact that Derek worked his amazing fingers inside of him for ten full minutes makes it very hard for a seventeen-year-old virgin male to not be about to come.

It’s like Derek is reading his mind. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” he gasps, and Stiles whimper at the roughness in his lover’s voice. “Ah, fuck, Stiles. So good, you’re so good for me,” Derek babbles, and that’s really all it takes for Stiles.

It feels like a tidal wave, like something huge building up, soaring through his body, from his toes and all the way to his fingertips. He’s so close, almost there, and then Derek whisper’s “Come for me” and the tidal wave hits the shore, crashes through every cell in his being. Stiles has never felt anything like it, and he’s had a lot of great orgasms over his single life.

He’s vaguely aware of Derek stilling under him, can  faintly feel something warm spreading inside of him, but nothing is clear, his eyes are dropping. The haze is back and it’s dragging him under.

The last thing Stiles remember before succumbing to the darkness, is feeling safe, and the smell of freshly fallen rain.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Stiles wakes up slightly disorientated. It isn’t until he tries to sit up and feels a twinge in his ass that he remembers the night before, and smile.

That smile is quickly gone though, when he rolls over in bed only to find an empty space.

_Did you honestly think he would stay?_ an malicious voice whispers inside his head. _After you practically molested him? You’re no better than Kate!_

_No, that’s not true!_ Stiles protest. _Derek wanted me, he wanted it! Didn’t he..?_

_Why would someone like **him** ever want someone like **you** , huh? You’re pathetic. You’re a loser. You’re a rapeis…_

Stiles’ thinking is brought to an abrupt halt when a loud crash sounds from the kitchen. He’s quickly on his feet, ready to face witches and rouge Alphas, but instead he’s faced with Derek Hale, covered from head to toe in flour.

Stiles can’t help it; he giggles. “Derek, what the hell?”

Derek growls, but there’s a playful smile lurking at the edges of his lips, so Stiles isn’t too worried.

“I, uhm…” Derek starts, but cuts himself off. Stiles is startled to realize that the always cold-blooded Beta is actually blushing. It’s adorable too; his ears are all pink and he’s scratching the bottom of his neck, before slyly looking up at Stiles.

“I wanted to bake you pancakes. But I, uh… I kind of fucked it up,” he grins.

Stiles beams. “You wanted to make me pancakes?” he repeats, his voice a faint whisper. He takes a tentative step towards Derek, who in turn doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around Stiles’ waist.

“So… I didn’t fuck everything up between us? With the curse, I mean?”

Derek tilts his head as if thinking about it. “Do you still want to be with me, now that you are no longer cursed?” he asks, after a good minute of thinking.

Stiles is sort of shocked. “Derek,” he says seriously, “You are the only thing I have ever wanted.”

Derek’s smile is like the sun, huge and overwhelming, and filling Stiles with warmth.

“Well good then,” Derek says. “Because you’re all I want too.”

And then he kisses him, and Stiles doesn’t even remotely care that he’s going to have to explain why he has flour all over his face and clothe to his father later. Because when one is kissing Derek Hale, one might as well be under a lust-spell.

All else cease to exist.

 

* * *

 

It takes the pack two weeks to track the witches down.

Apparently (apart from putting Stiles under horrible lust-spells that results in awesome boyfriends) the witches had been in Beacon Hills planning some sort of ritual that would, supposedly, open a portal to another dimension.

“Witches are crazy,” Stiles murmur, his face pressed against the back of Derek’s shoulder as they watch Isaac help the Sheriff putting the leader of the witches in cuffs (that Deaton made immune to magic by lathering them in Deadly Nightshade, come on, give them some credit here). Derek just raises an eyebrow at him.

“What? They are. The whole magic thing is just creepy, and also dangerous if you think about it, and _omg it’s him Derek hide me_!”

It is indeed the witch-guy that put the spell on Stiles, and even though Stiles bravely tries to hide behind Derek, the witch-guy still see him. The sight of him must have given witch-guy new energy, because he breaks the deputy’s hold on him and starts rushing towards Stiles.

“My wonder, my love, I’m here finally, I’m…”

“Dead,” Derek growls, eyes flashing blue. “That’s my mate, you’re calling ‘love’. So if I were you, I’d back off.”

Witch-guy looks positively heartbroken. “Mate?” he cries. “You consummated with another?” he asks Stiles, a single tear running down his cheek.

Stiles clears his throat. “Um, well… Yes?”

The witch-guy lets out a loud wail, and when the deputy grabs hold of him again, he doesn’t try to fight her off.

“Mate?” Stiles says with a smirk, when they walk together towards Stiles’ jeep a while later.

Derek’s ears turn adorably pink and is about to answer when another voice cuts in.

“I’d like to know a little more about that too. Also, exactly how ‘consummated’ is your relationship, Stiles?”

Stiles turns around to face his dad. “Ahaha, well, you see, the thing is dad…”

“Grounded. Get in the car.”

Stiles sighs. He looks up at Derek and gives him a small wave. “Talk to you later?” he mouths, and Derek nod. Stiles and the Sheriff start walking towards the Sheriff’s car.

Derek is almost at his own car, just about to open his door, when “Oh and son? You’re coming to Stilinski Family Dinner. Saturday night, no excuses. You can’t just consummate with my son and not even sit down and have a chat with his father.”

Derek smiles as he hears Stiles loud whining protest.

No matter what Stiles say, Derek doesn’t think witches are all that bad. Not if they can get him together with Stiles.

 

 

 

 


End file.
